


The Brick

by ambiguously



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Lost A Fight, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: Harry investigates a crime, and finds an old enemy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rivers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivers/gifts).



Harry checked the scroll again, before looking at the broken shop window. A magical crime had been committed here. The Auror responsible for dispatching had been positive, detailing the suspected spell used. Normally, Harry would have been sent with a partner, but they were spread thin these days, and he was sure he could handle a minor incident against a Muggle business. More to the point, he was sure he didn't have to handle it. A quick glance at the glass and the damage inside, all surrounding an ordinary brick on the floor, painted a far more familiar picture to him. The dispatcher, a sweet older witch named Castella Pinion, had been born and raised in the Wizarding World, and hadn't had cause to see a lot of bricks hurled through windows. In her day, bodies had been left piled in their homes by the Death Eaters who'd murdered them.

Harry kicked his toe at a piece of glass on the pavement.

Outside the shop.

He frowned.

He'd Apparated around the corner a few minutes ago, arriving well before the Muggle police. The late hour had driven most people to their homes and beds. Still, he pulled out the plastic torch which served as Harry's carrying case for his wand. No one was nearby now. That didn't mean no one was coming and would have questions about his odd glowing stick.

"Lumos."

No torch could have lit the shop interior as well as his magic did. The brick still lay there, but not at the centre of the mess. It could have rolled or bounced. He was sure it hadn't. Touching the wall outside the window, he felt the copper tang of magic in his mouth. Score one for Castella, he thought.

He heard a soft noise inside the shop, not a full moan but the beginning of one.

Harry stepped gingerly through the broken window as the original assailant must have done. His shoes crunched more glass inside. He'd have to be careful. The sound had come from behind the counter.

His wand shone on a crumpled form. "Hey," said Harry, dropping to a crouch beside the body. "How badly are you hurt?" He touched a coat-covered shoulder, and the person rolled, eyes bleary in the false torchlight.

The half-moan became an annoyed groan.

"Potter."

Harry's hand dropped away. He pointed the wand at Malfoy. "Why did you break in here?" he demanded.

The bright light made Malfoy blink, and he shoved the torch from his face. With some effort, he sat up. "I didn't break in. I work here." The words were flat, as if he didn't want to say them.

Harry glanced around. The shop sold accessories for mobile phones. "You work here?" he asked in debelief.

"My flat won't pay for itself." He stood up. Harry saw the badge on his shirt. 'Hi, I'm Dirk.'

Malfoy saw the look on his face as Harry nearly swallowed his tongue trying not to laugh. "What?"

"Nothing. Dirk."

Malfoy glared at him. "Some of us were blessed with a proper Wizard name. Muggles can't seem to get it right."

Harry made a guess. "They call you Dorko, don't they?"

Malfoy didn't answer. He glanced around the shop. His own wand was stored inside a pocket. He removed it, and began sweeping away the tipped display cases and fallen accessories with a flick of his wrist. Harry stepped over to the window. "Reparo."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Who broke in?"

Malfoy went still. "I'd rather not say."

Harry took in the magical damage, and the bruises on his old rival's face. "If it was one of our people, the Ministry should know."

"The Ministry has too much on its hand to worry about a few former Death Eaters scuffling amongst themselves, or so I was informed the last two times."

Some of his former friends had done this. The Malfoy family hadn't kept allies on either side of the war. The winners knew how involved Lucius had been with Voldemort, and the losers knew they'd fled with their son, abandoning the Dark Lord to his doom. Without his connections or their money, Draco Malfoy was at the mercy of others' kindness. There was little to spare for him.

Harry wanted to find it difficult to scrape up any himself, but he remembered the broken look on this same face during the dark times when he had seen no way out. He remembered that half the reason Professor Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him himself had been to spare Malfoy's soul from the wound of committing a murder. Dumbledore had cared for all his students. He'd seen good in the boy who was now the man. Harry hadn't understood then.

"Do you need a doctor? I can take you back to the Ministry to see Madame Cataplasme. I've seen her heal a broken wrist in two seconds flat."

"I'll be fine."

Curiosity presented another quandary. "Why are you working so late?"

"Inventory." Malfoy checked the shelves. "They didn't take anything. That's good. It would have come out of my pay." He sounded tired. Worse, he sounded defeated, as though his pay had been docked before from another rough visit from his ex-colleagues.

Harry reached down and picked up the brick. Someone had thrown this in at the end, making it look like a break-in instead of a different crime. The attack had been magical. The reason had been bitterly mundane.

"Have you eaten?"

"Have I what?"

"Have you eaten? We've cleared up the mess. I'll assume you don't want to call the police in. You said you don't want to see a doctor. Would you like to get a meal?"

Malfoy stared at him. His left eye was going to puff up like he'd bitten by a venomous spider, spoiling his good looks. Curiously, this made Harry warm a little towards him.

"Why?"

"Because I can. There's got to be a diner open around here. My treat."

"I don't...." Malfoy paused, clearly running through the mental maths telling him if he could afford to eat tonight. "All right."

It was strange, walking down the street with a man who'd have been happy to see him dead, and vice versa. That had been seven years ago. School was a memory. The war was over. The childhood relationships and rivalries had all been set to rest, growing into more uncomfortable adult roles. And here he was with Draco Malfoy, sliding into a booth at a Muggle all-night diner while the waitress brought them menus and coffee.

Talking was difficult. They had never been friends. Seven years on, knowing the same people almost counted. They gossiped about Neville. They chatted about Professor Slughorn. They avoided all mention of former girlfriends and their families.

Malfoy's flat wasn't far. They had stopped talking about halfway there, neither wanting to give voice to other sources of gossip, and the rumors that spread through so small a community as the Wizarding World. There were reasons Harry worked alone so often these days. There were similar reasons why Malfoy didn't get on with his old peers and didn't talk much with his mother and wasn't really the person he'd been back at school, not at all.

The glow from a streetlamp outside lit up the one-room flat. Malfoy didn't bother turning on a light, and didn't need one to tug Harry close. The kiss was awkward and full of regrets, things neither should have said or done. Harry had released a vicious torture spell on Malfoy, flaying his skin with anger-fuelled magic. Malfoy had petrified Harry and kicked him and left him invisible on a train.

This wasn't about getting even. It wasn't about the bruises on Malfoy's face, or the bruises they both carried on their souls from everything that had passed. It was about hands and mouths, and dirty whispers, and the warm feel of skin shuddering against skin as their clasped fingers grew sticky. It was about learning to forgive the boys they used to be, and learning not to fear the men they were becoming.


End file.
